Family affairs
by terfle
Summary: Constance Hardbroom keeps her family affairs to herself. But when her parents turn up for an evening, it's hard to hide
1. Chapter 1

**Obviously given the ages and timescale of all of these characters, this wouldn't actually have happened. But it doesn't matter; there are way too many similarities between teachers and professors at magical schools. Here is a scenario to enjoy. Jill Murphy and J.K. Rowling are to blame.**

Knocking on the door, Miss Drill waited to enter. Hearing the usual impatient 'Yes?' she opened the door to see Miss Hardbroom sitting at her desk sorting out essays to mark. Even in her room the stern teacher kept on working, her back straight, her eyes focused on the papers in front of her. Imogen gestured to the cup of tea she'd brought. Constance looked at her briefly.

'Thank you Miss Drill.'

'I'll put it on the desk, shall I?'

'That would be most welcome.'

Imogen placed the cup of tea on the desk, noting the precise angled position of all of the books and stationary. She sighed. Miss Hardbroom's OCD was alive and well, ruling her classroom and bedroom with iron efficiency. Her eyes swept around the room, alighting on something rather curious. As she had never been in Miss Hardbroom's room before, she couldn't say it was unusual exactly but the uncharacteristic object certainly didn't look like it belonged there. A framed photograph. Sitting on her sparse dressing table. Imogen wasn't close enough to see who was in it but she could guess at two people. Neither one of them seemed to be Miss Hardbroom. Imogen motioned to it.

'Friends of yours?'

Miss Hardbroom cast a puzzled look over at the dressing table. She frowned. 'Yes. Sort of.' She went back to marking.

Imogen realised she wouldn't be getting any more conversation out of her and turned to leave.

Back in the staffroom, the other teachers sat doing their own thing. Miss Cackle reading a book, Miss Drill lifting her weights and Miss Bat rearranging flowers in the bowl, nibbling on a petal every so often.

A commotion from downstairs caught the attention of the Headmistress and laying down her book, she got up to see what the noise was about. She had no need, for the trouble was ascending to her. Coming up the stairs was an odd couple arguing with each other. She, tall and thin with an emerald green scarf wrapped around her neck and rectangle glasses, he dressed all in black.

'If we had rented better brooms, we would have got there quicker, Severus.'

'I could have gotten here by bat.'

'Well it's alright for some.'

'Would you like to make the travel arrangements next time Minerva? Cattify yourself perhaps and hitchhike?'

'There is no need to be rude, Severus. Next time we'll disapparate, it'll be much quicker.'

'Not sure we'll bother with a next time, this place is a dump.'

'Ahem.' Miss Cackle felt like she had to step in and defend her Academy from the insult. 'Can I help you?'

'Yes. We are looking for Constance Hardbroom.' The lady shook off her cloak and draped it on the nearest chair, all over Miss Bat. She squeaked and ran into the staffroom cupboard, her sanctuary for when she was upset.

Miss Cackle looked disapprovingly at the cupboard for a second and carried on. Miss Drill dropped her weights, startled at the thought of more magic.

'Whom may I ask is calling for her?'

'She knows who we are. We're Professors' said the man, taking out a wand and fiddling with his unravelling sleeve. The witches stared. In Cackle's Academy, nobody used wands. The lady noticed and explained. 'We're from Hogwarts.'

Miss Drill was baffled. There were more schools for magic? Miss Cackle understood. She had no idea why teachers from Hogwarts School were here but she suspected Miss Hardbroom would have reason to contact them, perhaps over supplies and teaching methods.

'I'll just call her down.'

Excusing herself past the man through the door, she bellowed 'HB! There are Hogwarts people here to see you!'

'Secondary school, dear' she enlightened Miss Drill. 'The most established magic school there is in Britain.' Miss Drill did not look happy.

Before long, footsteps were heard. Miss Hardbroom appeared with her cup of tea.

'Visitors for you.' Miss Cackle went back to her chair and sat down with her book. She had done her part. Miss Drill was watching the scene in front of her, weights forgotten.

Miss Hardbroom stopped in front of them, face incredulous.

'Hello Constance, nice to see you. We thought we'd drop in for the evening, have a catch up.' She embraced the teacher; he put an arm around her, planting a kiss on her cheek.

'How is everything Constance?'

'What are you doing here?' Miss Hardbroom looked furious.

'That's no way to greet your mother. I brought you a box of your favourite ginger newts and this is how you greet me?' she reprimanded her.

'Your mother?!' Miss Drill was taken aback. Miss Cackle's eyes shot up from her book. Miss Bat opened the door to the staffroom cupboard cautiously.

Miss Hardbroom sighed and reluctantly introduced the couple.

'These are my parents. Professors McGonagall and Snape. They work at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

Miss Cackle murmured 'Welcome to Cackle's.' she stopped herself on the next sentence, wondering if they were married. Professor McGonagall responded acidly 'estranged.'

'Thankfully' muttered Professor Snape. She shot him a look of irritation. He gave her one back. They could apparently both read minds. Miss Cackle gave up.

Miss Drill looked at the couple and at Miss Hardbroom. She noted the identical dark haired bun of Professor McGonagall and the penetrating dark eyes of Professor Snape. Both of them almost all in black, similar irate expressions. They looked strict and authoritarian. Oh yes, these were Miss Hardbroom's parents all right.

Miss Bat fell out of the cupboard with a squeak. Miss Cackle sighed. 'Put the tea on Miss Bat will you? We'll be here for the rest of the evening.'


	2. Chapter 2

'So what do you do?' McGonagall gave Miss Bat a stern look. The chanting mistress wilted. She sipped her tea, most reminiscent of a certain someone. 'I teach transfiguration and Snape teaches potions.'

'Ah.' Miss Drill could see where HB had gotten her talent in the classroom from. The contributor of the potions talent sat plain faced over the steam rising from his tea. Whilst HB had inherited McGonagall's no nonsense attitude, his brooding face looked much like their daughter's melancholy mood.

'How did you split up?' Miss Drill asked curiously, eliciting a glare from Miss Cackle. She didn't think it was a question to be asked. The Professors looked at each other; using the answer they used every time.

'We had trouble with differences' replied McGonagall.

'What kind of differences?'

'Have a ginger newt.'

Imogen took one and continued observing the family before her. Constance was stirring her tea almost absentmindedly, beside her; Snape was crunching on a newt and McGonagall was dunking one into her cup. A very odd setup. She had no doubt that these were the people in the framed photograph. No wonder HB was reluctant to say anything.

'Severus insisted on heading Slytherin and I stayed with Gryffindor. We outgrew each other. So that was doomed from day one.'

'Shame you didn't realise that earlier' muttered Constance into her cup.

'Don't talk like that to your mother.' The daughter rolled her eyes, looking thoroughly fed up. A look seen by everyone several times a day. Imogen had to fight the laughter back. Was it possible that HB came from a normal dysfunctional family? It was impossible to think of her belonging to a family in the first place.

'My daughter, if we had realised that in the first place, you wouldn't be here' he reminded her. Miss Cackle piped up 'Constance is very talented with potions. I guess that must come from you.'

'Most certainly.' He slurped his tea noisily and was awarded a dirty glare from McGonagall. 'Must you do that, Severus?'

He placed the cup on the saucer with a slight smirk. 'If it annoys you, of course I must.' She looked daggers at him. Constance tried to restrain herself from rolling her eyes again. It didn't quite work.

The rest of the staffroom were on the edge of their seats, each one dying to laugh. They say that you morph back into a teenager when your parents are around but never could they imagine HB would be one of them. She glared at each one of them, daring them to do so. They all wisely refrained. Miss Bat munched on a flower from the vase on the table, offered a petal to McGonagall. The Professor looked at it in disapproval. 'No thank you. We've seen enough flowers traipsing across the countryside.'

'I thought you flew here?' enquired Miss Hardbroom. Miss Cackle felt relief that they used broomsticks as well.

'We rented broomsticks off Mundungus Fletcher. We lent ours to the Weasley's for the week.'

'Big mistake' muttered Snape into his cup.

Constance looked at her mother sternly. 'You think you would have known that he was going to rip you off.'

'We weren't going to do nothing on our day off.'

'Besides' Snape smirked 'I hexed the little bugger as we left. He won't be able to sit on a chair for the next week, let alone a broomstick.'

A hint of a smile crossed HB's face, not gone unnoticed by the staff. McGonagall resumed conversation. She too, was hiding a grin in her teacup.

'They flew at two miles per hour. My grandmother could have run it faster.'

'We could have hitched a lift with the old harpy, saved us the bother.'

'Don't you talk about my grandmother like that.'

'She's deaf and half blind, she won't care.'

The bickering continued while HB reached for another newt. Imogen watched curiously. 'Are ginger newts your favourite biscuits? I didn't know that.'

'There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Miss Drill' retorted HB snappily. She didn't tell them her mother sent a box of them every month and she hid them in her room. Not that she meant to be selfish but Constance prided herself on eating healthy plain nourishing food. She couldn't admit that she sneaked a ginger newt every now and again. It was her comfort food. Imogen recalled some crumbs on the desk in her room earlier. She chuckled at the thought of HB marking essay and nibbling on a newt before bedtime. As if reading her mind, HB's eyes bored into her. Not a clever move.


	3. Chapter 3

'So what are Slytherin and Gryffindor?' Imogen asked, changing the subject.

'Different houses we are sorted into. Gryffindor and Slytherin are ours' replied McGonagall.

'So if Constance studied at Hogwarts, which one would she have been in?' Asked Miss Cackle curiously. How did it work between parents of different houses? Was it inherited?

'It is based on the merits of the individual. The sorting hat sees within and takes into account the choice of the student also. Some students ask to be in a certain house.'

'It doesn't run in families then?'

'Not necessarily. There tends to be a family link through generations but even twins get split up if each has a different strength and desire.'

'Which house would you be in?' Imogen addressed HB. She shrugged. 'I wouldn't know. Probably Ravenclaw.'

'Ravenclaw would have been a good one for you' confirmed McGonagall. 'You always were the most knowledgeable of children.'

'How many more are there?'

'There are four in total. Hufflepuff is the other' said Snape. 'Each one of course thinks that their house is the best. We all differ somewhat in approaches and techniques.'

'I can imagine it can get out of hand' considered Amelia. Cackle's Academy was ill suited to having houses, being such a smaller school. Imogen and Amelia both thought the rivalry between Ethel Hallow and Mildred Hubble was bad enough, to add houses would be poisonous. The school survived on serenity along with the camaraderie and such potential competitiveness could unbalance the atmosphere. Perhaps it was part of the reason HB had preferred to work in a secluded private space such as this. They could see her in a much larger busier school commanding attention and teaching to hundreds of students but such divided loyalties would certainly unsettle her. Being a potions teacher, Constance knew the importance that each ingredient had, without one of them, the intended potion would fail. It would make another one but for a perfectionist like HB, it wouldn't be the same. Her job was her hobby, she mixed up alternative potions in her spare time but to teach them, she must make it exactly right. The students also had to work together to make the class as a whole otherwise nothing would be complete.

'Do your students in different houses fight with each other a lot?' Asked Imogen casually. Not that she needed an answer, being a P.E. teacher she knew all about competition.

'All the time.' Snape looked at her as if he knew what she was thinking.

McGonagall sighed. 'Severus has a bone to pick with several of my Gryffindor students. He has a habit of favouring his own.'

'All of us do Minerva, it's the way things work.'

'At least I know who to dole punishment out to where most deserved.'

'Ah yes. The Weasley twins. They get several detentions a week and yet still manage to cause mayhem and disruption wherever they go.'

'You are avoiding the issue Severus. We all know how you favour Malfoy and his like over others.'

'He has great potential' Snape mused. 'Compared to that big headed Potter, he could go far.'

'You only say that because he sucks up to you' snapped McGonagall.

'I could say the same of Potter. Blatant disregard for the rules, he gets off the hook every time and you and Dumbledore always give him a helping hand out of the mess he's caused. Blaming Draco for it is ridiculous but he always incites it as a reason.'

'You know as well as I do that Malfoy stirs up trouble. You just want to make sure he is top of the list just because his family is high profile. Sometimes Potter needs to be handled with care. Sometimes he just needs a kick up the backside with a week's worth of detentions.'

The staff were astonished. This all sounded very familiar. How could HB not have noticed…? Imogen caught her eye and realised that she did notice the parallel situation between student and teacher.

'That's funny because' she started to say but HB stood up and motioned her outside the door, leaving Miss Bat and Miss Cackle to listen politely.

'Is that necessary Miss Drill?'

'Isn't a bit strange that…'

'Yes, I know. But there is no need to say anything to them. They would only suggest me to go and work in Hogwarts or some other such place.' She grimaced at the thought. Imogen realised that she was the keeper of peace between the feuding parents and let it be. She expected HB to have some complaints about Mildred Hubble to her father considering they shared an annoyance of a particular pupil but then remembering that her mother was on the opposite side of the argument, thought it was wise to keep out of it.

'My father doesn't dislike this pupil, Miss Drill. He loathes him. My mother is the head of his house and they are in constant dispute over him. I have not been in the position to hate Mildred Hubble quite as much. She is irritating to the edge of reason, most certainly but perhaps compared to some of the student Hogwarts has, isn't quite so bad. Occasionally she does something right.'

Imogen wished she could tape this admission but was distracted by shrieking in the staff room. They opened the door to find carnage in the room and Miss Bat scurrying to the cupboard. The parents had their wands out and were blasting at each other. Miss Cackle was shouting in annoyance and Miss Bat could be heard squeaking in terror. Wands were not used in Cackle's Academy, it was a different kind of magic obtained by the person rather than having the power of a wand.

Constance surveyed the scene and sighed. She'd seen this many times before. Raising her hands, she fired lightning bolts at both parents with unnerving accuracy.

'Enough!'

McGonagall and Snape broke off their fight and resumed their seats at a now wrecked table.

'Sorry Constance. You know we can never stay in a small room together for long.'

'Will you get this place sorted out!' Barked Constance.

Snape gave her a small twitch of apology and started to fix the room muttering the spells quietly. McGonagall joined in, shooting dirty looks at him.

'Sorry Headmistress. They can be quite unruly at times' admonished HB as she sat down again.

Miss Bat crept out of the cupboard while Imogen started to realise why the teacher was the way that she was. She sat down and took a ginger newt.


	4. Chapter 4

'So you don't use a wand, Constance?' Asked Amelia cautiously.

'She doesn't need a wand' noted Severus. 'She's severely magical.' He exchanged the hint of a proud smile with McGonagall, their rift seemingly forgotten until the next time. Amelia could see where HB had got her short sharp outbursts from. Imogen grinned; she would have described her as just severe but looking at the wands they used in comparison to HB's lightening fingers, she thought of how vulnerable they would be if something would happen to their wands. They were only wood, after all. She would rather have HB's powers.

'Some people are just too magical for wands. Our daughter is one of them. She is a rare force of magic.'

Amelia smiled indulgently. Imogen thought it was the nicest thing she'd ever heard from a magical mother. Davina dabbed her eyes with a piece of tablecloth. Constance continued looking into her teacup and smiled. It was rare to receive praise from her parents; both too busy teaching other people's children to remember their daughter at times. She had been looking after herself from a young age but every so often it was enjoyable to be the centre of their attention. She tried to curb the smile; it was a show of pride and love she didn't normally pander to. Both Professors came from backgrounds that didn't encourage such indulgence and she had inherited that sense of level-headedness from them. The onlookers sense that this was a curious family cobbled together by magic, intellect and loneliness. Constance looked over her cup and saw the others observing her. She switched off the smile and continued as normal.

'You must use the same kind of spells we do' Davina nodded 'just with wands.'

'There are lots of types of magic. Even some of the spells for similar or the same needs can differ. And of course using wands uses different spells.'

'Potions being one of the only branches of magic that stays constant all over the world' Snape interjected. Imogen imagined father daughter time brewing up potions and against her initial thoughts, now found it to be quite endearing. Learning the secrecy and mystery of potions together wasn't quite the same as taking your child to a football match but it worked for them. Imogen had no head for messing about with substances herself but she secretly admired those who did have these kinds of skills. After a morning mixing potions, it was a wonder that HB had any patience left for the students.

'How is Morgana?'

'She's fine. I left her some sardines in the usual place.'

Morgana was HB's sleek black cat, the sole recipient of her affection in the castle. Morgana sat on the broomstick without asking, corresponded with her mistresses wishes instantly without being told. Morgana was quite the most unusual cat. Rumours abound of her being a human bewitched but Morgana was nothing of the sort. She was a very intelligent cat and HB adored her.

'We gave Constance her cat upon coming here' explained McGonagall. 'Her leaving present.' Constance smiled at the memory of that day. For a minute she was convinced it was her mother and not a real cat. Amelia caught the smile and enquired about it. It was explained to the teachers about Constance's initial misgivings of the cat.

'You thought it was your mother?!' Exclaimed Imogen, looking at prim, proper McGonagall.

'I am an Animagi' explained McGonagall.

The staff looked at each other in confusion.

'An Animagi is an animal form. Minerva takes the form of a cat.' Snape enlightened them with the unfamiliar shape changing method of magic.

'Now I understand' said Amelia. 'And you also?'

'He takes the shape of a bat.'

'Very appropriate.'

'You can take the shape of any animal or insect. We chose the slightly more conventional ones. It helps to blend in.'

Miss Bat was delighted. 'Oh please do turn into a cat, I'd love to see it' she trilled. McGonagall put down her teacup and proceeded to evolve into her alternate persona.

'How magical' breathed Miss Bat in admiration.

Imogen and Amelia just stared at the tabby cat in front of them with the rectangle markings around the eyes and white socks, striped tail curling round the cup. She looked like any other cat but Amelia could tell there was something altogether odd about her. But magical persons could sense that. The tabby cat put her paws on her cup and lapped up some tea daintily. Then she jumped back onto the chair and transformed again. How clever!

'But Morgana is black,' Imogen pointed out.

'Colour is easily changed. I thought it was my mother.'

'How sweet' breathed Miss Bat. Imogen had to agree.


	5. Chapter 5

'Well it's not exactly a normal childhood' Imogen argued, after HB and her parents had gone upstairs. 'It's not the turning into things and wands and all of that I'm referring to. It's the family dynamic. First she gets all stroppy and teenager when her mother brings her biscuits and the next minute she has to order them to clean up after a wand fight. Who's the child in this family?'

'That is a bit odd' Amelia admitted. 'But it does explain her authoritarian approach. And every so often she does get into a bit of a huff about things. I thought it was a repressed childhood. I'm not sure of what to make of it.'

Imogen hoped HB wouldn't materialize out of thin air at that point as she often did. She didn't know what would happen if she overheard them talking. There was always a chance she'd appear in the most unconventional way.

'I think her parents are quite charming' piped up Miss Bat, overhearing them. 'If a bit odd at times.' She licked the back of her spoon thoughtfully. 'If I had parents like that I would turn out to be a little strange as well.' She picked a petal off the nearest flower and ate it with a piece of kiwi. The others looked at each other and resolved to say nothing.

Meanwhile upstairs, Minerva McGonagall was fussing over her daughter as a mother should.

'Perhaps you should wear a bit more colour, Constance.'

Constance pointedly looked towards her purple pyjamas.

'I meant, during the day.'

Once again she pointed to her best dress, dark purple silk. Looking through the scant options, she pulled out a dress with dark red edging. 'See? Not all black.'

'Nothing wrong with black' observed Snape, reclining on the bed, shoes carefully not touching the bedcovers. Floating actually.

McGonagall rolled her eyes.

'Don't listen to your father. He doesn't know colour if it hit him in the face.'

Constance stifled a laugh. 'I don't think tartan is my kind of thing.'

'Tartan should be worn with care' said Snape, observing the troupe of bats near the window. 'Your mother is one of few people who can carry it off.'

The pillow flew up and wacked him gently in the face. McGonagall was smiling now.

'Enough of that, Severus.'

'I was merely commenting.' He put the pillow back in its place and continued floating. Although their relationship had waned over the years, their respect for each other had not.

Morgana woke up and stretched. She attracted McGonagall's attention straight away and she spent the next five minutes making a fuss of her. Morgana loved it. She purred and wound her way around, accepting the cosseted embrace. Constance sat down on the bed opposite her father.

'Do you think I'm making a mistake, staying here?'

'I don't doubt your prospects would be just as good elsewhere. But you must decide if it is worth the risk. We stayed in our comfort zone. It's all we have, all we've ever known. We didn't want to compromise that. You worked your way to the top and now not just the best teacher in the area, but the deputy headmistress also. Just like your mother. If you are content to be here, we won't think any less of you.'

Her doubt showed on her face. He sensed what it was about.

'That Mistress Broomhead taught you well in your studies but didn't pay much attention to other things. Your work here is no less than what you would achieve elsewhere. Either way, you are doing your job. Educating one person is better than none at all. It doesn't matter where you teach as long as you are changing lives.'

'Correct' butted in McGonagall, Morgana now wrapped around her neck. 'Don't let anyone make you think otherwise.'

'I thought you wanted me to go and teach in a place like Hogwarts' stated Constance testily.

'We only suggested it. With your aptitude, you can teach anywhere you like. But it's entirely up to you. Perhaps you are happier in a more secluded environment after all.' McGonagall paused, thinking of her daughter's OCD. 'But don't you listen to that Heckkity Broomhead. Your time with her is done and you must be your own person.'

Constance felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. In the nick of time, her parents had restored her confidence.

'We only want the best for you' her mother assured her. She then took out a package from under her cloak. 'Now how about something nice and new? You need to update that wardrobe of yours.'


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner was unidentified stew and potatoes. The Professors ate without complaint although HB was certain that the food at Hogwarts was indefinitely better. She suspected Snape had furtively added something with a flick of his wand in an unattended moment. Or perhaps a sprinkle from a bottle hidden within his robes. She wouldn't put it past him.

'How's the food?' Enquired Miss Cackle anxiously.

'It's lovely' said McGonagall graciously. She was sure Snape had taken the liberty of adding salt to their plates. By the look on Constance's face, she had realised it too. The food here was usually plain and nourishing.

'We should be making a move soon.' Miss Cackle feigned disappointment. 'Oh dear, we can't tempt you to stay?' She had a feeling the two would be clashing before long and she was anxious that their staffroom could be left unmolested by their combined magical forces. 'Dessert? It's apple pie.'

Constance knew with that, they wouldn't be departing so soon. Both had a taste for apple pie. With everlasting cream from a jug that was Miss Bat's speciality. Especially tampered with extra sugar which she was sure a certain someone would add to the plate. As usual, she was proved right.

'Will you stop playing with the food?' She hissed to her parents, who pretended not to hear her. Both studied their emptying plates intently. Miss Drill snorted with laughter. One glare from HB was enough to stop her.

McGonagall leaned over a fraction and whispered 'there's no need to be so prickly dear, we'll be leaving soon.' Snape nodded, quietly scraping his spoon around his plate. They were both aware that no matter how old someone was, they would always be embarrassed by their parents.

'Tea? Coffee?' Suggested Miss Cackle. It could prove to be a long evening.

It did, when they started to regale them with stories about their students at Hogwarts and more interestingly, stories of a young HB. Imogen was interested. Who wouldn't find the story of 9 year old Constance knotting sheets together to escape down the window to sneak off to a midnight lecture, interesting? When her parents had found her behind the potted plants afterwards, they hadn't punished her but pointed out instead that she could have flown safely out instead, they recalled a frown crossing their daughter's face. She had been of the age when her peers were reading fanciful school stories and they thought that she had seemed a bit disappointed that it could be easier than that.

Imogen and Amelia had both been interested in the theory that HB had actually wanted to be a normal child for a brief time. Clearly with such notable talent at such a young age, she had resigned herself to her magical destiny.

They ended the evening off with some more ginger newts dipped in cream and a quiet display of magic, just a few things being transfigured here and there. Miss Bat was enchanted by the tortoise teapot and Miss Drill was impressed by the light bulbs flickering in symphony. The damage done to the walls was easily repaired. Also the suggestion of curtains didn't go amiss, Amelia promised to consider it on a budget. It was nearing 11 o'clock when the Professors took their leave.

'Nice cloak' said Imogen, admiring the emerald green of Professor McGonagall. 'Thank you.' She shot a meaningful look at her daughter.

'Yes, I will wear it' Constance assured her. From that, they could deduce what she had brought with her.

The rest of the staff went back inside while the family said their goodbyes.

'Let us know when your half term is. We don't see you enough' reminded McGonagall. Constance rolled her eyes.

'We'll send you a message when you get back' Snape added, enveloping her in a hug. Her mother joined in and they stayed there, breath rising in the cold air and mingling with each other. She took solace in them and appreciated their support. They had made the best of the evening that they could and were no doubt thankful to be getting back to Hogwarts. But they understood her preference was for a place a little more modest.

'You know where we are. Send us an owl if you need anything.'

She nodded and waved them goodbye, watching as they fetched the borrowed broomsticks, arguing about what they would come back to. McGonagall declared that the Weasley twins would have blown up the Charms corridor for a dare. Snape favoured Harry Potter being expelled for some outlandish adventure. Constance watched as they flew over the walls, still bickering about the broomsticks and how much faster someone's grandmother could have flown. Constance sighed and watched the figures disappear from her vision. It wasn't a conventional relationship but it worked for them.

Back in her room, she opened her parcel, knowing that an almost identical emerald green cloak would be in it. Another tin of ginger newts, a small book of highly advanced potions and a woollen striped scarf. Black and silver. Silver was a surprise but Constance knew her mother was right. Time for her to put on some colour. She'd start tomorrow, the cold weather was perfect for the cloak and scarf. The tin and book she put on the table, the scarf was wound around the chair and the cloak was put away.

Footsteps sounded outside and a knock was heard. Miss Cackle popped her head around the door.

'Nice to see your parents. They can come again if they wish. Charming couple.'

Miss Hardbroom was sure she was lying but it was nice of her to pretend.

'I can put the teapot back to normal tomorrow.'

'No need. Miss Bat has taken a shine to it.' Of course she would.

'I'm so sorry they turned up like that. They have a habit of doing so.'

Miss Cackle waved it off. 'Not a problem. Brightened up the evening considerably. Miss Bat's face when your parents blasted the staffroom to bits!' They shared a smile over the memory. 'Nice scarf by the way.'

'Thank you.' Constance held out the tin. 'Another biscuit?'

'Don't mind if I do.'

'Sorry about everything.' She felt the need to apologise for her odd relatives to kindly Miss Cackle, from such a genteel family. 'They can be a bit much.'

'They are quite interesting to spend an evening with. I wouldn't feel bad about it. They love you very much and you shouldn't be ashamed of them. Just warn me next time they come.'

'When they tell me first, I will. They have a habit of turning up at the strangest times. And I'm not ashamed of them.'

'Clearly a creative streak' noted Amelia thoughtfully. She turned to leave.

'I realise family visits can be quite stressful but try to get some sleep tonight Constance.'

HB realised that Miss Cackle had her best interests at heart. Much like her own mother.

'I will. Goodnight Headmistress.'

'Goodnight dear.' With that she closed the door and went to her own room to catch up on some sleep.

Miss Hardbroom changed into pyjamas and got into bed, blowing out her candle. She watched the shadows dance about her room, fading into her slowly forming dreams. Morgana jumped on her bed and lay on her chest. She drifted into sleep cuddling her purring hot water bottle. A new day awaited and for once in a long time, Constance hadn't needed to dwell upon the dying hours and could look forward to the dawn without trepidation.


End file.
